


My Promise

by StarseekerWolf



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Heartbreak, I will try to make it as canon as I can, I'm Sorry, Now that I have backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarseekerWolf/pseuds/StarseekerWolf
Summary: "We're in this together, okay? That's my promise to you."*****Before everything-your memory loss, your apprenticeship to Asra, your job at the palace-you had a whole other life. Julian and Asra know that better than anyone.Over a time period of nine years, everything changes. Masquerades, midnight walks, and difficult decisions ... In the end, what is love if not a blessing and a curse?





	1. The Masquerade

"You've got all of your supplies?"

I hand my aunt her satchel, which she swings over her head with ease. "Yes, of course."

"Your deck's in there?"

She pats the satchel with a smile. "Of course."

"Great. Let's head downstairs."

I'm not sure why I expect her to be unprepared. My aunt is always prepared.

Today, though, I have to be extra careful. For it is the Masquerade, a day of bright colors, fancy customers, and valuable sales. People from all over, including travelers, head into Vesuvia for the festivities. Tourists mean more attention and more sales (hopefully).

Every year, while my aunt sells herbal ingredients and tells fortunes in the back room, I am allowed to roam the town. She usually gives me a list of stuff that we need, but we're well off this year, which means I have the entire day to tour the many booths and stalls. She's given me a little bit of money for it; I can't wait.

My boots clump noisily against the wooden stairs as we return to the ground level. Peering through the windows, I can see that a few people are already starting to show up, drifting from place to place with distant curiosity. The jewels that adorn their clothes give away their high status; they must be outsiders.

"Good luck," I tell my aunt, clasping a cloak around my shoulders. It conceals the rest of my outfit: a smooth silk shirt with pink and purple embroidery and a pair of black leggings, fake sequins and all. A satchel similar to my aunt's, containing my money and a few emergency items, bounces against my leg as I move towards the door, eager to get outside.

"I won't need luck," she calls after me. I smile to myself, then throw open the door and step into the street.

Vesuvia is generally a beautiful place. Merchants heartily hawk their wares to passersby, couples bask in the sunlight, and people like me have a fun time browsing. The smell of freshly baked bread is always in the air, making my mouth water.

I let out a sigh of contentedness, then begin weaving among the stalls.

Due to my aunt's strict budgeting, I wasn't given much money to spend, but I make it work. I buy a gorgeous gold chain with a pendant in the shape of a pair of wings dangling from it. I stroke it for a moment before slipping it over my head. The silver charm stands out beautifully against my clothing, and I smile involuntarily.

Jewelry is my weakness. If it's gorgeous, then I feel pulled to it, and this necklace called to me more than all the others. Something about wings say 'freedom' to me, and that's a big part of who I am.

After that, I buy a loaf of pumpkin bread and head back towards the shop to have lunch.

Things have gotten a lot more crowded, that's for sure. Tourists and citizens alike have flocked to the town square, and I'm careful to clutch my paper wrapped bread close as I weave through the crowd.

I try to make my way towards the shop's back door, but the crowd has other ideas. I'm jostled in the other direction before being irritably shoved further away, sending me tumbling through a curtain and into a stranger's booth.

The bread tumbles from my fingers, and I hiss in annoyance. Thankfully, it lands on the paper and not the ground, though the crumb colored film unfurls everywhere..

But, as I stoop and reach out to pick it up, my fingers brush the hand of the stall owner, who has also ducked down to pick up the bread for me. I look up to find out who it is, and time stops.

"Oh," I whisper.

The person kneeling beside me is what my aunt would call a sweetheart. He's definitely not a boy, but he doesn't look old enough to be a man: despite his fluffy white hair, his lightly tanned skin speaks of youth and prosperity. The curve of his jaw is strong, swooping down to a rounded chin. I guess he's a teenager like me.

His eyes, though ... They reach into me. They are a vivid violet color, and they are staring straight into mine.

Then he opens his mouth to speak, and just like that, things snap back into place and time resumes its merry way. "You dropped this," he says smoothly, wrapping up the loaf with deft hands and handing it to me.

I blink, trying to process what just happened. "I-thanks," I say, feeling flustered. "Sorry I fell in. The crowd seems to be swelling."

The teen nods. "I think there's a visitor," he says, furrowing his brow. "I haven't seen the crowds this excited in years."

I laugh. "I know. Who do you think it could be?"

He shrugs. "Care to find out?"

"Sure," I say. "I'm Y/N, by the way."

He blinks. "Wow, what a pretty name." I blush. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Asra."

"Hi, Asra," I say, smiling slightly. "Shall we go see what the fuss is?"

His eyes shift to a point over my shoulder, and his mouth forms an 'o.' "I don't think we'll need to," he murmurs. "The fuss has come to us."

I turn to see that, in my wake, the curtain has fallen to the ground, giving me and Asra a perfect view of the street.

A carriage has rolled into the square, and stepping out of it is a stunning woman in an elegant gown.

She has long, tyrian purple hair that cascades down her back in supple waves as she moves. Her skin is the color of hot chocolate that I would drink by the fire on a cold winter day. Her eyes are an alluring crimson, and they rove over the crowd, widening as she takes everything in.

She is beautiful, she really is. But as I take in the many rings that adorn her fingers and the gold bangles jangling at her wrists, my awe shifts to contempt. Another rich lady to shame families like mine, families that only make as much as they need to get by. Come to think of it, the money my aunt gave me was probably out of our reserves. I touch the necklace at my chest, feeling guilty.

"Who is that?" I say apprehensively. "Some sort of palace snob?"

Asra snorts, and I get the faint impression that I've come across as naive. "That, my dear Y/N, is Nadia Satrinava, the seventh princess of Prakra."


	2. Break Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That December at the palace, Asra and Julian are struggling to please Lucio's demands. Rather than hopelessly toil, they decide to take a bit of a break.
> 
> *****
> 
> I am aware that this timeline is probably bogus but it's completely ok, alright? ^^

**Asra's POV**

"WHY AREN'T YOU IN THE LIBRARY?!"

Ah, Lucio's screaming, screeching, and general fit-throwing noises. One of my _favorite_ sounds to enjoy in the morning.

"Not to worry, Count," I sigh, giving my research partner and friend, Julian Devorak, an exasperated look. "We'll be down there as soon as you let us go."

"LET YOU GO?" Lucio wailed. "Oh, I'm doing more than _letting_ you go. I'm ordering you to GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

"Yes, Lucio," I drone. I whirl, my cloak curling around my arms, and stride from the room. Julian's long legs mobilize and he follows me, looking exhausted at the prospect of more research.

I slam the doors of Lucio's chambers behind us, scowling fiercely. "He's such a tyrant!"

"He's just sick," Julian says weakly, though I can see the heaviness in his gait. He's been staying up just as late as I have, slaving over this stupid imaginary cure.

"We're never going to make him happy," I spit venomously. "If we made the world a perfect place, he would complain that there was nothing wrong anymore."

Julian shrugs. "I suppose you've got a point there."

"Of course I do," I snap. I wince at the way his expression shutters. "I'm sorry. I'm running on thirty minutes of sleep and Lucio's fits give me a headache. It's not your fault."

"I keep telling you that you need to invest in a few cups of coffee," he teases, pushing playfully at my shoulder. "It does wonders, I swear."

"Just tea for me," I say airily, lifting my chin with mock imperiousness. "Some lapsang souchong should get me in a better mood."

"Alright, let's get to it, then," he sighs. "Then we can be done with this."

Even as Julian and I head down the hall and exchange light-hearted banter, I have to repress the words I really want to say:

 _We're never going to be done with this, not even when we're dead_.

We get to the library and my heart rebels at the sight of so many books. Julian's desk is still a mess from the previous night/morning, with scrolls, open tomes, and hastily scribbled notes sprawled across the surface.

"Ugh," I groan, smoothing my hands over my face. "I'll go grab some tea. Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Julian mutters, striding to his desk and getting straight to work. I observe him for a moment, back hunched, pouring over the many pages of the many books. Then I turn and depart from the library, headed for the palace kitchens.

The cooks are a kind group of people, truly. They're big-hearted and kind and always willing to sneak a few treats out for me and Julian when the nights get laborious and our stomachs growl. However, I know Lucio's crackdowns are wearing down on them just as much as they are on me. Last week, he fired one of them for cooking his steak just a bit too well. "It's hurting my teeth!" he had growled, before promptly throwing out a finger to dismiss the unfortunate employee from the room.

I shake my head as I enter through the side door. One day, we'll be free.

"Ah, the esteemed magician!" The head cook spots me and smiles, bustling over. He's a portly, middle aged man with a partially bald head, his warm brown eyes a welcome sight after Lucio's Plague-red ones. "The usual for you and Mr. Devorak?"

"That would be fantastic," I say, smiling.

A few minutes later, I'm carefully walking back to the library, a cup in each hand. The delicate glass is pleasantly warm against my palms, and I make sure I don't spill any of the precious substance. This stuff gets Julian and I through the long days and nights.

When I return to the library, Julian looks up at the sound of my footsteps. He breaks into a relieved grin at the sight of the cups I hold, and I make my way over to his desk. I offer his to him as I take a sip of mine, the sweet, smoky flavor tasting glorious against my tongue. I let out a contented sigh.

Julian lifts the cup to his nose, inhaling the scent. "Ah, this is the stuff," he grins. Rather than savor it like me, he brings it to his lips and downs it in two gulps.

I roll my eyes, though there's a smile playing at my lips. "I suppose I'll be getting more pretty soon?"

"Definitely," he grins. Then his expression becomes serious again as he turns back to his work, setting the cup beside several others that he hasn't bothered to clean out.

I sigh and take another sip of my tea. "Anything at all?"

"Nothing," he grumbles. "I've looked at several transfusion options, but they're all just temporary fixes. The Plague takes control of the body so quickly that the transfusions wouldn't have time to take hold."

I frown. "There's really nothing to be done?"

"Not that I can see," Julian sighs. "Not yet."

"Not yet," he repeats under his breath, his brows furrowing. He flips a few pages and jots some notes down on a spare piece of parchment. 

I run my fingers through my hair and sigh, perusing the aisles of books and pulling out a few new ones. With those and the book I've been referencing since the beginning, I settle on the pile of cushions in the corner and get to work.

*****

**Four Hours Later**

If I go step by step through one more ritual, my head is going to explode.

I grit my teeth and think of Muriel, the boy I've pretty much grown up with. _I'm doing this for you_ , I think, trying to calm my breathing. _I won't let Lucio hurt you. Not permanently_.

I realize that's a lie. When this ordeal is over, we will be scarred by the memories. But it can't be as bad as I'm imagining. At least Lucio isn't forcing him to do anything for me.

 _I hope_.

At his desk, Julian groans in frustration. "But that-what? No. That's not good enough." He clutches his hair in his fingers. "Why can't that ... Oh, for the love of-"

"That's it," I announce. I snap the book I've been reading shut. "We need a break."

Julian casts a hopeful yet nervous look at me. "Lucio-"

"Lucio is an idiot," I admonish. "It doesn't matter what he wants, he's not going to barge in here. Not if it risks interrupting our precious 'research.'"

"True," he mutters. "I could use some rest ... "

"We both could," I sigh.

However, no matter how boring this gets, I know Julian has it worse than I do. Lucio knows I only work with magical solutions: rituals, charms, spells. Julian, on the other hand, is expected to come up with a physical result. A cure that the Count can actually hold. That, unfortunately, won't be so easy.

An idea surfaces in my mind, and the more I think about it, the better it sounds. "Come here," I say.

Julian's eyebrows leap up. "What?"

"Come here," I repeat. "You deserve a bit of relaxation."

"O-Okay." Using scraps of parchment to mark his places in the tomes, he leaves his work and strides to where I sit.

"It'd be best to remove your cloak and overshirt," I advise.

He looks at me dubiously but does so, setting them on the ground. This leaves him in a garment of thin white silk that's only buttoned halfway, revealing his muscular chest.

"Okay," I say, shifting to the side. "Lie down on your stomach."

"I didn't realize it was like that," Julian says. He says it casually, but I see his throat bob as he complies.

I kneel beside him and place my hands lightly on his shoulders. He shivers visibly, tensing up ever so slightly.

"Relax," I murmur. I knead his muscles, rubbing gentle circles over his shirt. Julian sighs in contentment as I massage him, working my way across his shoulders and down his back to the base of his spine.

I can feel the tension draining out of him, the exhaustion and pent up frustration of the past week leaving his body. He hums when I get to a particularly sensitive spot, and I smile, though he can't see it.

"You needed this, didn't you?" I ask, pressing my palms lightly up his side.

"Sure did," he mumbles against the pillows, his eyes closed. "And Asra?"

"Yes?"

"Can I tell you something I've never told anyone else before?"

I frown, starting on his arms. "Okay."

He hesitates for a moment, our breathing filling the silence. "Julian is my Vesuvian-ized name, but my birth name ... "

He trails off, then takes a deep breath and says, "Ilya. Call me Ilya."


	3. We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the next year's Masquerade, and while browsing booths, you run into a familiar person.
> 
> *****
> 
> I got all of the tarot card info from the in-game Tarot readings ^_^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to proceed with the belief that Asra is 23 when the game starts, since the devs stated that he is the youngest out of all of the other characters.

**Your POV**

My aunt is on a path of steep decline, and she's in denial about it.

Her movements have grown stiffer over the past year, and she makes pained noises when she has to bend her limbs in certain ways. She tried to push through it but one day fell, shattering the bones in her hip. She now walks heavily reliant on a cane.

I tried to tell her that she shouldn't participate in the Masquerade this year. "You're pushing yourself too hard," I told her. She wouldn't have any of it.

I have my doubts about venturing into the city this year and leaving her alone in the shop, but she claims she'll be fine. I suppose I'll soon find out if my fears are unfounded.

I slip my hand into the satchel at my side and run my fingers along the coins, just to ensure myself that they're really there. Surprisingly, my aunt didn't waver in giving me a small amount to spend.

Lacing up my boots, I call a quick goodbye to my aunt before heading out the door.

The summer heat is made even worse by the gathering crowd. The hype of the Masquerade never lessens; the streets are always packed

I close my hand around the necklace I bought at last year's Masquerade. I've worn it everywhere since then, the pair of silver wings giving me hope. Hope for my aunt, hope for this city, hope for my future.

I weave unseen through the throng, ducking under arms and squeezing between groups. Running errands for my aunt every now and then turned into becoming her personal shopper; I'm used to navigating in crowded places.

First, I visit the baker's stall. Business tends to thrive for him on this day, as travelers and citizens alike are searching for a good snack. When I arrive, he greets me by name; I've come here enough to be rewarded with that recognition. Saying a hearty hello, I purchase another loaf of pumpkin bread.

As I say goodbye to him and walk away from his stall, the delicious scent of the bread reminds me of last year. That white haired boy I ran into.

I have no idea why I'm thinking of him right now. I'm probably never going to see him again.

_Not that ... Not that I would want to._

After I eat my bread, I dispose of the wrapping in a bin and keep moving.

I end up buying a simple bracelet. It's painted gold and almost certainly isn't real, though it's priced as though it is. Still, as I depart from the stall and slip it onto my wrist, the cool metal seems to ground me.

As I mentioned, I have a bit of a weakness when it comes to jewelry.

I decide to make my way back to the shop to check on my aunt. "It can't be too bad, right?" I mutter to myself as I push my way against the crowd.

On my way, though, I catch a glimpse of a small white sign outside a booth. **Learn Your Fate** , it reads.

I snort quietly to myself. A fortune teller, huh? No doubt this person is a fraud who makes things up as they go. Not like my aunt at all.

I can check on my aunt in a little bit. I have to see this for myself. Gathering my courage, I step up to the booth and push inside.

It's dimly lit inside, an oil lamp flickering in the corner. The space is sparsely furnished, with two chairs and a table between them. The chair closest to me is, I assume, for a customer. And in the other chair sits a familiar white-haired male ...

"Wait a second," I say, surprise shooting through me. "I know you! Asra, right?"

"Yes," he says, his violet eyes portraying as much shock as I feel. "It's Y/N, isn't it?"

Another year has put things into perspective: he's not as old as I originally thought he was. His growing seems to have evened out, and he actually only seems to be about 14 or 15.

_Just like me ..._

"Yeah," I say, still taken aback. "What are you doing here?"

An amused grin slides into place. "This is my booth." He gestures at the deck of cards on the table, the deck I had failed to notice. "I tell fortunes."

"I gathered that from the sign," I say, staring at him. "I meant ... "

His smile flickers. "I need money. People are willing to pay for my services. Is there something wrong with that?"

"Not at all," I say, a whirlwind of emotion storming through me. Why aren't I being more clever about this? "I just ... I'm surprised to see you again."

"Likewise," he says, sweeping a stray lock of hair out of his face. "How are things?"

I lift one shoulder half-heartedly. "Fine, I guess."

He raises his eyebrows mysteriously. "Why don't we talk to the cards?"

I look at him dubiously. I can't tell if he's legitimate or not, and I feel it would be rude to ask.

As though he's reading my mind, he smiles slightly. "I'm one hundred percent real, I assure you."

Though I still feel hesitant, I slide into the chair, perching delicately on the edge of the seat. My aunt used to tell me I am like a bird: always ready to take flight at a moment's notice. I suppose that's true.

I study his hands as he begins to shuffle the deck. His fingers are fairly thin and nimble, a contrast to the subtle muscle of his arms. He mixes the cards with precision and ease, as though he's been doing this his whole life. Maybe he has.

He then cuts the deck into three equal parts and lays them before me. I smile and lay my fingers gently on the stack closest to me.

Asra sets the other two stacks aside and fans out my chosen stack expertly, a perfect half circle. "Just three," he says.

I feel a tug in my gut, my hands are moving, and a moment later, three cards lay before me. I frown slightly. Did I just ... ? But ...

He's watching me closely now, and his eyes hold a force of intuition that I can't face, so I school my features into neutrality. "Past, present, and future, right?" I ask, tapping the three cards from left to right. He nods in confirmation, so I take ahold of the first card lightly in my fingers. It feels sleek and cool against my skin as I flip it over.

It's a beautifully illustrated card, the colors blending together to tell a story. Asra closes his eyes briefly, some of the tension draining from his body, and says, "Judgement upright." His gaze pierces me. "You must forgive yourself for your past mistakes. Heal old wounds and thrive in a fresh start."

My hands tighten beneath the table. Forgive myself for past mistakes? That will be next to impossible. And as for healing ... Some wounds will not be mended, not by time or by the greatest of apologies.

In my life, the only fresh start is a new month of bills and struggles. I'm not sure that's what the cards have in mind, though.

"Okay," I say. "I think I'll be working on that one." I feel as though he sees more than I want him to as I flip over the second card.

The detail is the first thing that strikes me. So many minute details that bring this drawing together ... How long did it take to make this? Did he make these with his own hands?

"Ten of Swords, upright," he says. He blinks, and it is as though he is looking at me with new eyes. "Things may feel dark, but they are coming to an end. The pain is almost over."

I bite my lip. 'The pain is almost over'? As far as I'm concerned, the only pain he could be speaking of is the pain I feel when I watch my aunt hobble downstairs every morning, leaning so heavily on her cane that the floorboards creak and groan in protest. Is he saying she's going to die?

"We'll see about that," I mutter, and flip over the final card.

It's a peculiar one, but the way the colors mix is still gorgeous. Asra's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. "Four of cups reversed," he says, sounding thoughtful. "You have isolated yourself, closing yourself off from new opportunities and experiences. End this: engage yourself in the world and your heart will soar."

He smiles at me. "Quite a trio," he says. "I don't think I've seen anything like this in quite a long while."

"Really?" I muse. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"That depends," he replies, his smile growing. "Will you listen or attempt to forge your own path?"

"That depends," I tell him, offering a small smile of my own. "This talk of new opportunities ... Does that include seeing you again?"

I'm not sure why I just said that. In fact, I'm not sure at all. It slipped out. I see his eyes widen and I have no way of knowing if that's a good thing or not, so I open my mouth to apologize when-

"I would like that," he says softly. 

It's my turn to widen my eyes. "Wh-what?"

"I would like that," he repeats. "It would be nice to have something ... solid. Constant."

I want to ask him why he sounds so sad. Why he doesn't have any other constant things in his life. But perhaps ... Perhaps if we spend more time together, he will tell me in his own time.

"Solid and constant," I say, trying out the words. "That sounds ... good."

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," I say.

We stay seated, looking at each other with some sort of strange feeling.

I tell myself it means nothing, I tell myself that this is only a fleeting moment of weakness, but when the next customer-a gorgeous girl who lowers her lids as she takes in the sight of Asra-ducks into the booth and I stand to leave, the flash of jealousy in my gut makes me feel as though walking away is a big mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, please! Let me know what you think!


End file.
